Chapter Four

Chapter Four: The Weight of Home

Nate woke to the smell of coffee.

For a brief, blissful moment, he didn't remember why he was sleeping on a couch instead of in his own bed. His eyes remained closed as he stretched beneath the blanket, listening to the quiet clatter of dishes from the kitchen.

Then reality came crashing back.

Eric.

The apartment.

The betrayal.

The drinking.

The fight at the bar.

His stomach twisted.

He groaned, rubbing both hands over his face as a headache throbbed behind his eyes.

"Good," Micah called from the kitchen. "You're alive."

"Barely."

"You've said that every morning for the last two weeks."

Nate slowly pushed himself upright. A bottle of water, two painkillers, and a neatly folded change of clothes sat on the coffee table.

He looked toward the kitchen.

"You always this annoying?"

"Only with people I like."

Nate snorted softly before taking the pills.

Micah emerged carrying two mugs of coffee and a plate of toast and eggs.

"Eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"I wasn't asking."

Nate rolled his eyes but picked up a piece of toast anyway.

For several minutes, neither of them spoke.

Outside, rain drummed steadily against the windows.

Finally, Micah broke the silence.

"You have your internal medicine rotation today."

Nate didn't even look up.

"I'm not going."

"You've already missed two."

"I'll email Dr. Singh."

"You've emailed Dr. Singh three times this month."

Nate shrugged.

"I'll think of another excuse."

Micah stared at him.

"You know what? No."

Nate frowned.

"What do you mean, no?"

"I mean you've worked too hard to throw everything away."

"I said I'm not going."

"You've spent six years fighting to become a doctor."

Nate's jaw tightened.

"So?"

"So don't let one man destroy your future."

The words landed like a slap.

Nate pushed his plate away.

"You think this is about medical school?"

"I think this is about you giving up."

"I haven't given up."

Micah laughed bitterly.

"No?"

He began counting on his fingers.

"You barely sleep."

"You drink every night."

"You start fights with strangers."

"You ignore your professors."

"You've stopped answering calls from people who care about you."

He lowered his hand.

"If that's not giving up, what is it?"

Nate stood abruptly.

"You don't get it."

"No?"

"No."

His voice cracked despite his best efforts.

"I built my entire future around Eric."

The apartment.

The wedding.

The plans they'd made late at night while lying in bed together.

The tiny house they'd promised to buy after residency.

The golden retriever Eric wanted.

The children they'd dreamed of adopting one day.

It had all disappeared.

"In one afternoon," Nate whispered.

Micah watched him quietly.

"You know what hurts the most?"

Nate let out a humorless laugh.

"It isn't even that he cheated."

Micah frowned.

"It's that every promise he ever made suddenly became a lie."

Silence settled between them.

Micah had no clever response.

There wasn't one.

---

Nate Whitmore had always known exactly who he wanted to become.

Some children dreamed of becoming astronauts or athletes.

Nate wanted to become a doctor.

His mother used to tease him that he was born with a stethoscope instead of a rattle.

Whenever his stuffed animals "got sick," he'd line them up on his bedroom floor and carefully bandage each one.

His father would kneel beside him.

"Will they survive, Doctor Whitmore?"

Nate would nod solemnly.

"I'll save all of them."

His parents never laughed at those dreams.

Instead, they encouraged them.

His mother bought him children's anatomy books.

His father helped him build model skeletons and quiz him on bones and muscles.

They celebrated every good grade, every science fair, every achievement.

They believed in him long before he believed in himself.

Then there was Micah.

The first time they met, they were five years old.

A bigger boy had snatched Nate's crayons during their first week of kindergarten.

Before Nate could even cry, another little boy with messy curls marched across the classroom.

"Give them back."

The bully laughed.

Micah shoved him.

The crayons fell.

Micah picked them up, handed them back to Nate, and grinned.

"My name's Micah."

"Nate."

"Wanna be friends?"

Nate smiled.

"Okay."

That simple conversation became the beginning of a friendship that would define both their lives.

They were inseparable.

If someone saw one of them, the other wasn't far behind.

Sleepovers became routine.

Birthdays were celebrated together.

Their families spent holidays together.

Teachers joked they should have been twins.

As teenagers, they studied side by side, pushed each other to get better grades, and dreamed about attending the same university.

Micah wanted to study physiotherapy.

Nate was determined to become a doctor.

Then, when they were sixteen, everything changed.

A rainy Friday evening.

A drunk driver.

One phone call.

His parents never came home.

Sometimes Nate still remembered standing in the hospital corridor, staring at two white sheets covering the bodies of the only people who had ever loved him unconditionally.

He had screamed until his throat gave out.

The funeral passed in a blur.

Relatives argued over what should happen to him.

Some offered sympathy.

Few offered a home.

Then Mrs. Elsher had stood up.

"He's coming with us."

No hesitation.

No discussion.

Just certainty.

From that day forward, Micah's mother treated Nate as another son.

She never tried to replace his parents.

She simply gave him a safe place to grieve.

For two years, Nate and Micah shared a room.

They stayed up late studying.

They talked about everything and nothing.

When nightmares woke Nate, Micah never complained.

He simply sat beside him until he fell asleep again.

Without that family...

Nate wasn't sure he would have survived.

Eventually, both young men earned admission to the same university.

Together they left their hometown behind. Micah studied physiotherapy. Nate entered medical school.

Years passed.

The workload became brutal.

Lectures.

Labs.

Clinical exams.

Hospital rotations.

Night shifts.

Endless studying.

Yet Nate loved every second.

Medicine wasn't simply a career.

It was his calling.

In just a few months, he would graduate and begin his residency.

Everything he'd worked toward since childhood was finally within reach.

Or at least...

It had been.

---

Micah's phone rang.

The screen read:

Mom.

He answered immediately.

"Hey, Mom."

Her voice sounded exhausted.

"I don't know what to do anymore, Micah."

His expression changed instantly.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Max."

Micah closed his eyes.

"What happened now?"

"He refuses to speak to me unless it's to argue."

She sighed shakily.

"He's skipping chores. He's barely eating. He stays locked in his room whenever he's home."

"And school?"

"His teachers say he's distracted."

Another pause.

"I'm scared I'm losing him."

Micah leaned against the kitchen counter.

"I'll come home."

"You don't have to."

"I do."

After they hung up, he remained still for a long moment.

Then he looked at Nate.

There was no way he could leave him alone.

Not now.

Not after everything.

He picked up Nate's car keys from the counter.

"Pack a bag."

Nate frowned.

"What?"

"We're going home."

"No."

"Yes."

"I'm not in the mood."

"I wasn't asking."

Nate folded his arms.

"I'm staying here."

Micah tossed a duffel bag at his chest.

It bounced into his hands.

"You can either pack your own clothes..."

He smiled for the first time all morning.

"...or I'll pack them for you, and I promise you'll hate my fashion choices."

Despite himself, Nate let out the smallest laugh.

It vanished almost immediately.

But Micah caught it.

Good.

That meant the real Nate was still in there somewhere.

Even if he was buried beneath heartbreak.

And Micah intended to help him find his way back, one step at a time.